


Before I Tumble Homeward

by AndreaLyn



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Jim comes back from the mission with something missing: his memory.





	Before I Tumble Homeward

When he wakes up, the world is bright.   
  
He should be more concerned with the dull ache in his head and the lack of any kind of knowledge about what’s happened, but right then, he’s occupied with how bright it is. He squints, shielding his eyes from the light, and when it subsides and he can make out three figures hovering over him, the largest problem takes dominance.  
  
“Hi,” he says, watching the medical instruments hovering worrying close to his body. “So, anybody know who I am?”  
  
Two of the three faces above him look panic and startled, but the dark-haired man staring at him looks like he’d expected this. He just needs to know what’s going on, where he is, and the part about  _who_  he is would help.  
  
But he’ll start with the pain.  
  
“Can I get something for my head?” he pleads, and sighs with heavy relief when the dark-haired man injects him in the neck and the light dissipates, leaving him to sleep.  
  
*  
  
When he comes to, the dark-haired man is back. Or maybe he hasn’t left. “Jim Kirk.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You,” the man says. “And I’m McCoy. I figured that was the next question. You took a pretty severe hit to your head while planet-side and the swelling in your brain was pretty clear in predicting that you’d wake up without much of a memory.” McCoy is scribbling idly at a pad, reclined back in his chair like this isn’t a big deal at all.  
  
So his name is Jim.   
  
Huh.  
  
He doesn’t really feel so much like a Jim. But then, he’s been awake and aware of himself for only minutes. Who is he to say what he’s supposed to be? He takes a closer look at McCoy and  _really_  takes in the look of him. At first glance, he looks casual and like he doesn’t give a damn about Jim, but closer introspection shows stubble growing in thickly on his chin and a heavily wrinkled shirt.  
  
It looks like McCoy hasn’t moved from Jim’s side the whole time.   
  
“You said planet-side, which implies we’re not anymore. Are we Starfleet?”  
  
McCoy leans forward, something like hope sparking in his eyes. “You remember Starfleet?”  
  
Jim rubs at the back of his head and takes in the swelling underneath his fingertips. It’s a nasty bump, that much he’s sure of. “I know the history. I know that I know how to drive and how to ride a bike. I know I live on Earth in a Midwestern state, though I’m not sure which one, and I know that we’ve been going up to the stars for decades. I know that much,” he says, and gives a crooked smile. “Well, doc? Not half bad for a guy with no memory.”  
  
“No,” McCoy agrees with a rueful smile. “But then, I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, Jim.”  
  
Jim studies McCoy a little closer and feels something in his stomach that tattles that there’s something that he’s missing. His gaze drifts from McCoy’s eyes to the curve of his lips and his heart decides right then to skip a singular beat.  
  
“Jim? You okay?” McCoy asks with heavy concern.  
  
“Me? Peachy,” he promises. “For a guy with no memory. So how long is that going to last, you think?” Jim’s already trying to figure out more details. He can recognize the surroundings and places them on a ship. They’re likely not near earth, if he hasn’t been brought down to the surface for care at Starfleet’s main medical center, and he knows that McCoy is his doctor and maybe something more. “Did you even leave here and get some sleep?”  
  
“No memory and you’re still on my ass,” McCoy grumbles heavily. “Drop it, Jim. I need to monitor the swelling and make sure it’s reducing at a safe rate.”  
  
“So, you’re my…”  
  
There’s an embarrassing span of silence between them and Jim starts to get uncomfortable with it.   
  
“I mean, if you don’t want to talk about…”  
  
“I’m your  _doctor_ ,” McCoy finally gets out, strained and desperate. “I’m just your doctor, Jim. Okay?” And there’s something there, something that Jim just barely picks up on, that speaks of regret and resignation.   
  
Jim watches him for a long moment and filters through what he might or might not remember. He can’t get at his personal history, but he seems to be able to read people just fine and he’s got a read on this situation that he wonders about. That regret and resignation in his voice makes Jim think that there’s something more going on here than McCoy being just his doctor.  
  
Jim adjusts the pillow behind his head and gets comfortable. He doesn’t need to do anything rash and push too quickly, here. He can’t say for sure, but he’d like to think he’s smarter than that.   
  
“So, what am I, a lieutenant?” Jim idly asks as he fidgets with the PADD beside his bed. “Some kind of communications officer?” He glances up in time to see an uncomfortable look skitter over McCoy’s face. “You’re my doctor, you can tell me what post I serve. Unless…” he trails off, wrinkling his nose. “Is it janitor?”  
  
McCoy snorts and tries to hide a smile of bemusement as he shakes his head. “Don’t ask me how it happened because some days I still think it’s all a fever dream, but you? You, Jim Kirk, you’re Captain of this vessel.”  
  
That’s …  _unexpected_.  
  
“So, I’m the Captain. And I have no memory.” Jim thinks that sums up the whole situation and now he’s got a feeling like there’s a heavy burden of pressure sitting on his back. “Is the ship okay? Have people stepped up to do their jobs? Is everything fine?” And then something else occurs to him. “I’m not such a crappy captain that people are glad I’m out, am I?”  
  
“Jesus, have you always been this much of a bundle of neuroses or am I contagious?” McCoy exhales the words, his eyebrows doing an admittedly impressive dance of arching up and doing acrobatics all over his face.   
  
Jim just rolls his eyes and gives McCoy a pointed look. “Amnesia, smartass,” he drawls.   
  
“The ship is  _fine_. Your first officer is doing a fine job of trying to impress logic, rules, and order on the ship while you’re gone, but seeing as you’re Jim Kirk, I have no doubt you’ll bend and break the hell out of those things when you get back.”  
  
“When?” Jim repeats.  
  
“What?” McCoy has reached forward to take the PADD into his hands, but Jim’s not done asking questions.  
  
Jim keeps his attention on McCoy’s face. “You said when. Not if. When I get back.” It’s the little things that keeps him optimistic and even though it’s only been a day and change of this condition, Jim’s frustration at scratching at memories that won’t quite come loose is starting to undo him piece by little piece. “It looks good?”  
  
“It’s…” McCoy trails off, pressing his lips together. His jaw looks tense and Jim doesn’t know what to make of that. “It’s touch and go. Mostly, I’m going on your history of pulling through in ridiculous situations.”  
  
“I’m good at that?”  
  
“You’re a goddamn genius at that,” is McCoy’s instant reply, filled with pride and warmth and it just starts to make Jim wonder what he’s not being told about his life. He’s got time to figure it out and if he heals before he gets the answer, even better. “You’ve got another day in observation, then I’m gonna ship you out to my quarters to keep an eye on you. It’ll be a when, Jim, don’t you worry about that. You’ll get better. Promise.”  
  
Jim doesn’t take his attention off him as he wanders through medical looking too exhausted to be standing. Jim reaches over to get a nurse’s attention, clasping her lightly by the wrist. “Hey,” he says, words soft and subdued. “Has Dr. McCoy managed to get any rest?”  
  
“Not yet, sir,” she replies quietly.   
  
“Can you make sure that the acting captain knows,” Jim says, his worried gaze still tracking McCoy around the room. “And imply that there will be consequences if the head of the medical department keels over on shift.”  
  
The nurse’s lips quirk up in a smile of understanding and Jim is glad that he seems to have a good eye for talent, even if he doesn’t exactly remember hiring anyone.  
  
“Yes, sir,” she agrees with a nod of her head. “And when Doctor McCoy is out for blood?”  
  
“You send him to me,” Jim assures with a steady nod.   
  
*  
  
Jim makes sure to be the perfect example of a patient. He takes his medicine, submits to any necessary tests, and doesn’t even complain when McCoy jabs him too hard with the painkillers every time he swans by to give Jim a check-up. He smiles and remains upbeat about the whole situation.   
  
It pays off three days later.   
  
“Well, the swelling is going down,” McCoy says as he reads off of a chart. “The memory will be coming back soon enough and I don’t need to keep you under medical surveillance anymore.”  
  
Jim senses that there’s something else coming. It’s suspiciously good news.  
  
“…and?”  
  
“No and.”  
  
Jim brightens and starts to collect the things he’s been amassing. “Great, then I’ll just get my books and things and I’ll get out of your way. Spock, the first officer guy, he says he’s been waiting for me so we can play chess and…”  
  
“There is a but,” McCoy interrupts. He comes in behind Jim and wraps a hand around his wrist, taking his grip away from the bag. “I’m not convinced that you’re a hundred percent okay. Call me crazy, but I’m gonna go a little overboard to make sure the captain of Starfleet’s pride and joy doesn’t keel over because I gave him too much leeway. You’re still on bed rest.”  
  
“McCoy!” Jim whines, interrupting the little speech.  
  
“Hold up, hold on, lemme finish. You’re on bed rest save for four hours a day to socialize. And I’m not letting you sleep on your own. Last thing I need is to waltz into your bedroom in the morning to check on you and find out that you had an aneurysm in the middle of the damn night,” McCoy mutters.  
  
Jim has a feeling he knows where this is going. “Okay,” he says, resigned to his fate. “Who’s babysitting me?”  
  
McCoy clears his throat and pries the bag from Jim’s fingers, sliding them together for the briefest of moments. “I’d be a crap personal physician if I let it be anyone but me.” Jim eyes him warily and he might not have his memory, but that reads as off. Something is so off about this situation and it’s driving him crazy.  
  
He just wishes he knew what was going on.   
  
“You?” Jim clarifies.  
  
“Yeah, me. Don’t worry, I’m just down the hall from you and it’s a decent room, even your spoiled sensibilities will like the damn thing,” McCoy says in complaint, ducking his head away to the side.   
  
Jim doesn’t have issues with that. He’s got an issue with the fact that he’s wondering what McCoy is to him. They haven’t exactly sat down to discuss it and Jim thinks it’s probably low on a list of priorities. After all, ‘hey, I know I don’t have my memory and I barely remember who I am, let alone how to be a Captain of a vessel, but are you my boyfriend?’  
  
That’s when Jim gets a great idea.  
  
He nods, giving his assent to the situation. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, sounding chipper and putting on a happy face. “Take me away.”  
  
Jim has a  _plan_.   
  
He lets McCoy take his bags for him and get him settled into the room. Jim casts a keen eye around and take notes about the place. The first thing he notices that’s a mark in the column of ‘I’m dating a hot doctor’ is the presence of only one bed. Why else would McCoy bring him here if they’re not sharing the bed? The mark against it, of course, is, ‘he’s a doctor who wants to monitor your condition and there’s a pull-out couch’. So, at this point, he’s one for one in the mental checklist of ruminations.   
  
He settles in and plays nice, waiting for McCoy to go back to the clinic before he starts bringing people around.  
  
If he can’t ask directly, there’s no rule that says indirect information won’t be just as accurate.  
  
“Hey, McCoy, I’m gonna be okay. You gave me that emergency panic button and everything,” Jim says, wiggling the communicator in his hand. “Go. Or else I’m going to file a report about how the Chief Medical Officer is neglecting his duties.”  
  
“I’m going, I’m going,” McCoy mutters, rolling his eyes. “You’re a nag, Jim, you’re a real big nag.”  
  
“But I’m a cute nag,” Jim replies instantly.   
  
He’s seen his reflection in the mirror and being a little confident hasn’t done anything wrong for him just yet, so he’s just going to grin and play into his strengths. Still, he flashes what he hopes is an encouraging smile and it must do some kind of trick because McCoy gets out of there, which gives Jim ample time to put Operation: Truth into play.   
  
He personally pages the head communications officer to McCoy’s quarters, a whole page of questions at the ready for someone who isn’t on the clinic’s lockdown. She, a woman named Uhura, looks mostly amused to be standing in front of Jim. Jim is ready for an inquest, but she looks ready for a casual sit-down.  
  
“You look like you’re about to start laughing,” Jim says, not sure he heard the joke.  
  
Uhura’s smile turns kind and sympathetic. “I guess it’s just surprising to see you so earnest and determined. You used to look like that all the time.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Uhura shakes her head. “Captain, I honestly don’t know.”  
  
“Jim.”  
  
“What?” She sounds confused, which is almost unfair because Jim is supposed to have the market on confusion right now. He’s got the big bump on his head and all the pretty x-rays to prove it.   
  
Jim shrugs and tries to put his convoluted thoughts into words with the hope that they’ll make sense. They make sense in his own head, but that’s a strange and jumbled place as it is. “I keep getting told I’m the Captain of this vessel, but the truth is that I don’t remember that. I’ve been told that I’m Jim and I feel like a Jim right now. So please,” he says with a hopeful smile. “Call me Jim.”  
  
“Okay then, Jim,” Uhura agrees, sitting down when he gestures out to the nearest chair. “Care to tell me why I’m here?”  
  
“I want to know more about Doctor McCoy.”  
  
This is just the first meeting that Jim has during the day. He takes them with a good number of his crew. They all get asked the same questions. What’s McCoy’s history, what’s his relationship to Jim? They all seem to answer politely and honestly (if a bit bemused) until he gets to the Chief Engineer.  
  
“Are you kidding me?” he scoffs, bent over with laughter. “What do you think I am, your matchmaker? Because after Keenser’s last disaster of a date, I’ve gone and given up on trying to let people be happy in love.”  
  
Jim’s confusion just about triples in the course of one sentence.  
  
“So, he is interested in me?”  
  
“Look,” Scotty (or so Jim had been told to call him after attempting ‘Montgomery’) says, pressing his lips together. “McCoy is one of my best friends on this ship. The man knows how to put away a glass of alcohol, so I feel a wee bit terrible about betraying his drunken confidences, but it’s been months and he hasn’t done a thing. The doctor has a thing for you. The good doctor has a disease and he thinks you’re the cure. Not that you knew. Or, I don’t think you knew. If you knew, you were doing a bang-up job of ignoring it.”  
  
Well, that is  _exactly_  the information that Jim’s been looking for -- except now that he knows the truth, he has another little dilemma.  
  
“What do you think I’m supposed to do in this situation?” he poses the question on his mind.  
  
“Honestly?” Scotty says. “Heal. McCoy won’t do a single thing until you’re in better condition.”  
  
“But…” Jim starts to protest, his impatience telling him that he doesn’t want to wait that long. He is stubbornly devoted to the idea of doing something  _now_ , even if it doesn’t seem like a good idea.  
  
Scotty shakes his head. “Talk to him if you want, but don’t be stupid, Captain. Don’t jump him. That might do a good job of ruining your chances, but it’ll do little else.” Scotty rises to his feet and gives an idle salute that amuses Jim that he lets go of some of his frustration at the decidedly unhelpful advice.   
  
Jim’s seen ten people today and of them all, he’s left with the knowledge that he’d been right in his initial assessment of the situation.   
  
Dr. Leonard McCoy is more than just his doctor.   
  
He’s still thinking about what to do with this information when McCoy comes back to his room for the day. Jim’s in the reading chair, idly flipping through the pages of the Horatio Hornblower novels, something about the title distinctly familiar in a way that itches at his brain in a place that he can’t quite reach to scratch.  
  
McCoy snorts with amusement as he strips off his blue shirt, leaving him in black trousers and a black undershirt. “Trust you to pick that one.”  
  
“Why? What’s so special about this?” Jim asks, the itch growing and festering.  
  
“My Dad bought me those books when I asked him why the hell he bothered to give me the name  _Horatio_. Those and a copy of Hamlet. I was all of six and he told me that honorable men had been named Horatio and to be given the name, even as a middle name, I was following in a line of proud men,” McCoy says, leaning forward to pry the book from Jim’s hand, their fingers brushing momentarily.  
  
Jim doesn’t put much thought to the way his skin erupts with goosebumps at the slightest touch.   
  
He sits up in the reading chair, trying to get closer to McCoy before he can ease away. He’s not intending to do anything, but he wants to close the space between them. “I think I remembered that. Slightly. I think.” He knows that itch had been familiar knowledge, he knows that it’s coming back. “I’m gonna be fine,” he says with furious determination. “I will be.”  
  
“Jim, I never doubted that,” McCoy says, digging out his medical scanner to do a quick assessment of Jim’s head. “Looks like the swelling is down about another five percent,” he says, staring at the screen. His lips (previously turned downwards in thought) slowly slide up as he looks up from the data screen and looks at Jim’s face instead. “Looks like you’re escaping another bullet. So to speak.”  
  
Jim pulls his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth, shifting until he’s perched on the very edge of the chair, his attention up to McCoy.  
  
“Hey,” he breathes out. “McCoy.  _Bones_ ,” he says and he doesn’t even know why.  
  
McCoy lights up and it’s the most beautiful thing Jim can remember in his short term of recalled memory.  
  
Jim definitely said  _something_  right.   
  
He’s holding his breath when McCoy closes the distance between them, slightly-calloused fingers brushing against his cheek before he’s in Jim’s face, kissing him and searching for Jim’s lower lip, tugging it into his mouth. McCoy pries it back out with his tongue and a searching kiss, sucking on it when Jim surrenders and closes his eyes.   
  
Jim just wishes he knows what he’d done.  
  
When McCoy eases away, Jim lets out a slow exhalation of breath and stares up with something like wonder and a feeling of victory pulsing through his veins, making his pulse beat fast and his limbs feel almost bloodless.  
  
“I thought I was gonna initiate that,” Jim has to admit, touching his thumb to the corner of his lips, staring at McCoy with something like awe. “I thought you weren’t even going to consider this until I healed. I thought. I mean, we could sit here talking about all the things I thought for a long time,” he goes on, taking a deep breath to staunch the ramble of his words.   
  
“Well,” McCoy says, looking faintly sheepish himself. “Maybe I just got tired of being patient.”  
  
“Doctor, doctor,” Jim practically drawls.  
  
McCoy rolls his eyes and thwaps Jim lightly on the back of his head. “Don’t be an idiot,” he warns. “I didn’t think I had a chance in hell of you wanting…” he trails off, words silenced by Jim pressing his lips to McCoy’s again and taking something that he doesn’t know much about, but he knows that he wants.  
  
*  
  
It takes another two weeks, but inevitably, Jim’s memory comes back to him in pieces. It’s a slow and frustrating process and McCoy has backed off ever since the kiss, like it’s suddenly  _now_  that he’s worried about Jim’s honor or something. When Jim wakes up one morning and remembers every inch of his history with Bones, he doesn’t wait.  
  
He climbs into bed with him, pins him to the sheets with his hands on his shoulders, and straddles his hips.   
  
“Jim, what in god’s name are you…” McCoy struggles wildly, eyes wide.   
  
“You’re my guy,” Jim says, so sure of that now that the pieces of his memory are connecting with what happened when he had been without it. “Doesn’t really matter what name you want to give it,” Jim says, stubborn and determined as ever. “But you’re Bones. And you’re my best friend and my doctor and the guy I’m always gonna go to. I get that, now.”  
  
McCoy settles slightly, hands sliding down to rest on Jim’s hips.   
  
“Did you have to wake me up for this?” McCoy mildly asks, but there’s a smirk lingering at the corners of his lips. Jim leans down and nips at McCoy’s lower lip, which is as much a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get in words. “All right, all right. Just don’t hit your head. I’d hate to have to go through this all over again.”  
  
“Really?” Jim murmurs, occupied with kissing at the crook of McCoy’s neck. “Because I thought it was actually a little fun…”  
  
He’s not surprised when McCoy digs his fingers through Jim’s hair and tugs once, as if in warning. He’s not surprised, but it still makes him smile with a kind of mischief delight. He settles and lets McCoy do whatever he wants to him, because after everything, Bones is  _his_  doctor.


End file.
